


Slip of the Mind

by solisaureus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Chapel sex, Cunnilingus, F/F, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solisaureus/pseuds/solisaureus
Summary: Catherine unwinds after a long day in her favorite way: touching herself to thoughts of Lady Rhea.But maybe her body knows something that her mind can’t accept.
Relationships: Catherine/Rhea (Fire Emblem), Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Slip of the Mind

Very little privacy is afforded to the captain of the Knights of Seiros. Every minute of the day it seems like everyone in Fodlan needs Catherine’s attention with the same urgency, whether she has time for them or not. Having both incomparable authority and legendary skills means that Catherine is indispensable for the Knights and she is tasked with accompanying them on every mission that matters. So while she does have her own quarters at the monastery, in reality she is only at Garreg Mach itself for a few days per month.

And whenever she’s out, she’s with Shamir. And Shamir’s reserved, uninterested company is almost privacy, but it isn’t what Catherine is craving tonight.

Having said goodnight to the last person between her and her chambers, Catherine shoulders open the thick oak door and feels that she could almost remove her weariness from her shoulders and hang it up like a coat. She unstraps her light armor and strips to her underpants before flopping onto her modest bed with all the decorum of a sack of potatoes, lazily kicking off her boots onto the floor without a care for whether they land upright.

For a moment, she just lies there staring at the plain stone ceiling with her arms spread out as though she were resting from making snow angels in her fluffy covers. Catherine wonders if other languages have a word for the indescribable bliss of surrendering to warm, dry, clean sheets after long, cold hours on one’s feet. It is raw euphoria, and while Catherine wouldn’t describe it as sexual in nature, she would say they are adjacent under the category of physical gratification.

Catherine is alone for the first time in ages, and as the tension eases from her body, she closes her eyes and exhales, focusing on the growing warmth below her navel. She reaches up with her left hand to graze over her nipples, which stiffen in response. Gently prodding at one breast, she lets her other hand slide over the marred skin of her abdomen and pauses at the thatch of wiry hair beneath her waistband.

Before she goes on, Catherine flips through her mental catalogue of sexual fantasies, each of which centers around Lady Rhea. The Archbishop notoriously does not allow herself to be touched, and thus the extent of Catherine’s actual physical contact with Rhea is quite limited. A brush of robes against Catherine’s thigh as she escorts Rhea to the audience chamber, a lock of pale green hair blown by the wind onto Catherine’s cheek, the resting of the Sword of Seiros on Catherine’s shoulder as she is knighted. Rhea has never done anything to physically arouse her, but the intensity of Catherine’s devotion lends itself well to vivid fantasies.

Catherine twirls her nipple with her fingertip as she closes her eyes and imagines kneeling before Rhea in the chapel. A follower of Seiros might condemn such a setting as blasphemous, but what Catherine feels for Lady Rhea, in both body and soul, is nothing short of reverence.

“My lady,” Catherine imagines herself pleading in her fantasy. “It would be my honor to please you.”

The Rhea of Catherine’s desire hums thoughtfully, as though pondering the decision of her fate. After a moment of deliberation she sweeps aside her long skirt, widening the split of fabric at her hip to reveal no further garments to cover her modesty. As Catherine envisions the smooth curves of Rhea’s luscious thighs and the delicate beauty between them, she dips her fingers further down her own body and spreads her lips to touch the sensitive nib within.

She imagines leaning forward to press her face to Rhea’s soft flesh and can practically feel the warmth radiating to her cheek. She thinks of kissing the smoothness of her lady’s hip as she gently parts the legs before her. Looking once more at the radiant face above her, Catherine ducks her head beneath Rhea’s body and lavishes kisses on her sex. She imagines that she would rather suffocate herself between those thighs than part her face from that delicious wetness, lapping persistently at the perfect smoothness to show Rhea the depth of her piety.  


The pace of Catherine’s hand on her own body hastens and she bites out a soft whine. She can feel her pleasure coming together like a ripple in reverse, slowly edging toward her center from the ends of every nerve in her body. Rhea commands her every sense, the smell and taste of her dominating her thoughts, the slick warmth imagined on Catherine’s tongue and the pliant thighs that she wishes she could grip, the breathy moans she would draw from Rhea’s lips. At the edge of her climax Catherine thinks that she would like to see the look on her lady’s face at the height of pleasure, so she pictures herself emerging from between her legs to look up at her.

The woman heaving with arousal in her fantasy is not Lady Rhea. The hand under Catherine’s waistband freezes and her body recoils as she realizes that it’s Shamir in her mind’s eye, strands of her short dark hair hanging over her gaping lips, her cool demeanor undone by rapture.  


Catherine gasps and bolts upright, squeezing her eyes shut to dispel the mental image. The image of Shamir standing naked above her was so disarming, she feels as though a bucket of ice water might as well have been thrown on her. Not a trace of her arousal remains as Catherine stares blankly at the wall, wondering how the hell she’s going to look Shamir in the eye tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure something very similar to this has been written before but I couldn’t get it out of my head so. Have Catherine being a useless lesbian!


End file.
